Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [41]
“Rick and Rhoda might know who you are, just as you recognized him as the Gin Man from the amateur sleuth Web site,” Renie suggested.
“That’s true. They might want to get all the glory in case they figure out whodunit.” But Judith was dubious. “There’s something odd about that waiter. I remember seeing him at the party, and later he delivered Anemone’s taco salad. Now he shows up with breakfast.”
Renie’s expression was droll. “Gosh, coz, that’s what waiters do—they wait on people. Besides, the complete staff wasn’t on board last night. They probably haven’t come aboard this morning, since our sailing time may be delayed.”
“That’s so,” Judith admitted, standing up and slipping the note into her purse’s side pocket. “It could have been anyone in the kitchen—or even someone passing through. For all we know, it might have been the captain himself. Come on, you’d better get dressed. I’d like to get off of this ship.”
Judith didn’t add that she wanted to get off alive.
It was overcast in San Francisco that Friday morning as the cousins took a taxi back to their hotel.
“I’d like to find out how many of the guests are staying at the St. Francis besides us,” Judith said as they neared Union Square, where pigeons fought for space on the bronze victory column.
“None’s my guess,” Renie replied, watching through the window as the usual ragtag-and-bobtail crowd mingled with protesters and supporters of various causes. “Most of the party guests live here, right?”
“Do they?” Judith responded as the turbaned taxi driver double-parked in front of the hotel.
Renie already had her money out. “Keep the change,” she told the driver, handing him two bills and all but shoving Judith out the door.
“Hey, lady!” the driver shouted just as Renie put one foot on the street. “You big cheat! You give me two dollar!”
Renie jerked around to stare at the driver. “What?”
“Two dollar!” he cried, waving a one in each hand. “Ride cost eleven dollar! I call cop, you go to prison! Much torture!”
“Hold on to your hat,” Renie snapped. “I mean, turban.” She dug into her overstuffed wallet. “I meant to give you a five and a ten. Sorry,” she added, tossing the bills into the front of the cab.
“Ah.” The driver smiled broadly. “Have nice day, lady.”
“Nice day, my butt,” Renie muttered, squeezing between two town cars to reach Judith on the sidewalk. “I should have put on my glasses.”
“I don’t know why,” Judith said, hurrying her step to avoid a very aggressive panhandler who was hurling verbal abuse in their direction. “The lenses are always so smudged and spotted that you can barely see through them.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Renie grumbled. She pointed to the bar just off the lobby. “Let’s have a drink before we go to the room.”
“At eleven-thirty in the morning?” Judith retorted. “Isn’t that a bit early?”
“Hey—yesterday I started at four A.M.,” Renie reminded Judith. “Besides, I didn’t say a cocktail. I’m considering lemonade. They serve lunch here in the Compass Rose lounge.”
Judith gazed at the bar area, which was raised a few steps up from the lobby itself. Several tables were already occupied. The place looked comfortable and quiet.
“Sure, let’s do it,” Judith agreed. “We can leave our carry-ons with the bellman.”
“We can take them with us,” Renie said, already climbing the carpeted stairs. “They’re carry-ons, remember?”
They had just gotten seated when they heard a piano playing softly behind them. Judith turned around to look. “I hope there’s no corpse in that one,” she said grimly.
The cousins both ordered lemonades. Renie fingered the lunch menu. “We can eat here, too,” she said.
“We just did, barely more than an hour ago,” Judith pointed out.
“So?”
Judith didn’t argue. The server took their beverage order before she spoke again. “You’re probably right about the other party attendees. I assume the Cruzes live here as well.”
“They always did,” Renie replied, “though they maintained a pied-à-terre, a condo downtown, not far from Heraldsgate Hill. Paul Tanaka never lived